All ye know on earth
by cassiemortmain
Summary: A season 2 AU. When Tom is called up, he passes his medical. Will he go through with his threat to be a conscientious objector?
1. Chapter 1

He's leaning against the bench, arms folded, when she comes into the garage. His slanting look brings his last words to her mind, and they keep playing like a broken record she can't switch off.

_"You're too scared to admit it, but you're in love with me..."_

She finds herself resorting to small talk about Bates' return to distract herself, before stepping forward to say what she has come to say.

"Branson, there's something you ought to know. I've told Mary."

His eyes drop. A firm nod, a rueful smile. "I see. Well, that's me finished then. Without a reference."

She can't bear him to think she has betrayed him, after her promise in York that she wouldn't.

"No, she's not like that. You don't know her. She wouldn't give us away."

"But she won't encourage us?" He stands up, putting his hands in his pockets in a characteristic gesture.

"No." He smiles, his gaze brushing against hers. There's an unexpected spark dancing at the back of his eyes. "Why are you smiling? I thought you'd be angry."

"Because that's the first time you've ever spoken about 'us'."

A blush sweeps up her face as she realises he's right. He's the one to break the resulting silence.

"If you didn't care, you would've told them months ago."

_He's frightfully full of himself!_ "Oh, I see. Because I don't want you to lose your job, it must mean I'm madly in love with you!"

"Well, doesn't it?"

She tries to make him see, to understand. "You say I'm a free spirit, and I hope I am. But you're asking me to give up my whole world and everyone in it."

"And that's too high a price to pay?"

"It is a high price. I love my parents, you don't know them. And I love my sisters and my friends."

Her voice rises, cracking a little. When he speaks again, his tone is more conciliatory.

"I'm not asking you to give them up forever. And when they come around, I will welcome them with open arms."

"And what about your people? Would they accept me? And what about my work?"

His brow furrows at the word and he gestures angrily towards the door. "What work? Bringing hot drinks to a lot of randy officers? This isn't a hospital, it's a holiday home."

Almost as soon as he speaks, she can see he regrets his harsh words. "I'm sorry, milady. To speak slightingly of your work. I've no right to do that."

"No, you haven't."

"It's just that when I look at you..."

Their gazes meet and lock. She can't remember how to breathe.

"Not being sure if you're mine..."

She steps towards him. Just one step, she can't help it. Drawn in by the force she can feel swirling between them, a force she's helpless to resist.

"I feel I may explode..."

"Branson..."

"Because I am yours, milady. Utterly, completely, forever. I love you, I love you so much..."

"Tom..."

His eyes widen. _I've never said his name before..._

"Yes ... milady?"

Unable to ask him directly for what she wants, she lifts her hand and puts a finger to his lips.

The speed of his response surprises her. He wraps his arms around her waist, lifting her off her feet and pressing her up against the car. The breath is driven from her body as his mouth crashes onto hers, desperate, hungry.

She's never been kissed before and the first thing she notices is how _hard _his body, his man's body, feels against the softness of hers. The smell of him - motor oil, the brilliantine he uses to smooth down his hair, a trace of sweat - fills her nostrils. An intoxicating warmth rushes through her from low down in her belly as she closes her eyes and pulls him down to her.

There's a deep groan in his chest as if he were drowning and she were the air he needed to stay alive. One of his hands slides up her spine to cup the back of her head, his fingers buried in her hair, while the other arm stays tight around her waist, holding her flush against him, not even a chink of light between them. It's her turn to moan as his tongue pushes between her lips, his mouth fierce on hers in a way she's never imagined.

The unfamiliar delight of it all sends her head spinning. Without the pressure of him holding her against the car, she knows she will fall. She wants... she doesn't even know what she wants.

_Closer, I need to get closer..._

When he breaks their kiss, she doesn't want him to stop, letting out a sigh of longing as he leans his forehead against hers. When he says her name, his voice rough and raw, it's like a caress.

"Sybil..."

Tremors thrill through her, to her very fingertips, at the sound. They step apart a little and he moves from shadow to light, his arms still around her.

How could she not have seen before how _beautiful _he is? The beam from the overhead lamp strikes the planes of his face, the strong muscles of his shoulders and arms, and his eyes - oh God, his _eyes - _dark blue flame, burning deeply into hers, burning through to her soul.

"It comes down to whether or not you love me. That's all. That's it. The rest is ... detail." It's barely a whisper as his thumb runs gently along her lower lip, his hand stroking her face, and she longs to lean into his touch.

A veil has been lifted between them at last, a veil he has hung between them for so long to try and protect them both. His need for her, the need of a man for a woman, is naked on his face now.

With a shock, she realises he must see the same need in her. And that can't happen.

_I promised Mary I wouldn't... Oh God, but I want to... _

She pulls away from him abruptly, hands flying to her flushed cheeks, a gasp breaking from her lips.

"I'm sorry, I can't, I can't. Please, don't ask me..."

"Sybil... milady, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Stepping back, his hands lift in a gesture of surrender. "I should never have kissed you like that. Please, wait, don't go, I promise..."

But it's too late.

Tears streaming down her cheeks, she's already running, from him, from herself. His last words to her are lost in the darkness that closes in around her heart, darker than the moonless night sky over her head.

**The end...?**

* * *

_A/N__** -**_

This season 2 AU fic was born from a rom-com prompt but it took on an angsty life of its own in my imagination, and I just had to write it. (I do have a happier version of the prompt in mind to write as well!) Its title comes from the famous last lines of the John Keats poem "Ode on a Grecian Urn": "Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all/Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know." These words really made me think of Tom's "The rest is detail" line. :)

Special thanks to repmet for kindly sharing the missing lines from the season 2 script book with us, some of which I have included in this fic. I may come back to it - I'm not sure yet what happens after this moment.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's note_

I had to come back to this, in the end - I've dreamed up a whole story based on what was meant to be a one-shot! That can happen sometimes. :) You may recognise part of this chapter from a drabble I posted a while back on my Tumblr.

Oh and yes - in case you were wondering, I'm playing around with canon timeline and scene order in this story. In particular, one significant event that 'should' have happened before this story began (in canon) hasn't happened yet... you will see what I mean below.

This fic's going to be very angsty - fair warning! But it's me - you can trust me to take care of our babies...

* * *

Sybil doesn't get a wink of sleep that night.

All she can think about is him. The _feel_ of him, every part of him. His fingers tangled in her hair, his mouth ravaging hers, his body pressing her against the car. She can feel herself lighting up like a candle, sparkling in the darkness of her room, as she relives every moment of their kiss over and over.

And the words he'd said to her just before he kissed her. She'd known how he felt about her since their conversation in York, but hearing it spelt out in these terms had been... astonishing, thrilling, terrifying.

"I am yours, milady. Utterly, completely, forever. I love you, I love you so much..."

A reminiscent shiver runs down her spine as she closes her eyes. The memory of his words traces over her skin, caressing her as his hands had done.

She gets out of bed and wanders over to her window. The moon is full outside, dipping down from the sky so low she almost feels as if she could reach out and touch it.

_I wonder if he is thinking of me right now?_

* * *

At breakfast the next morning, Cora looks at her youngest daughter, concern on her face.

"Sybil, darling, are you quite well? You're as grey as your uniform. Should I send for Dr Clarkson?"

"Mama, no, please. Don't worry. I'm quite all right."

"Are you sure? You should go back up to bed and rest."

"No, I can't. I have work to do."

Cora subsides as Carson enters with the mail, and speaks to her father first, as he always does.

"My lord, some news. Mr Branson has been called up, I gave him his papers this morning."

The Earl of Grantham looks annoyed. "Damn it all, where will I find another chauffeur?"

Sybil puts down her toast. She can't eat - her throat is choked with tears.

"Papa, how can you be so unfeeling? This is a man's _life_ we are talking about, not just an inconvenience to you!"

She stands up, pushing her chair back hard enough to make her father raise his eyebrows.

"Excuse me, Mama, I have to go."

* * *

"Carson's told Papa you've been called up."

Sybil can feel her heart racing in her chest, seeing him again. Branson's wearing the canvas coveralls he uses to work on the cars, and a strand of the hair he normally combs back so carefully has fallen onto his forehead, making her long to brush it back.

He looks broad, hard, strong. Strong enough to fight.

"There's no need to look so serious." His face belies his words.

"You'd think me rather heartless if I didn't."

He looks at her. "I'm not going to fight."

"You'll have to."

"I will not. I'm going to be a conscientious objector."

She can feel her throat choking up again, as it had at breakfast. "They'll put you in prison."

"I'd rather prison than the Dardanelles."

"When will you tell them?"

A beat. Their eyes meet and lock. "In my own good time."

"I don't understand."

"You will, soon enough." He turns back to his work.

"Tom, please..."

Hearing his name, spoken by her again, he looks at her. They are separated by the width of the car, but it feels as if they are just a breath apart. She stands still, arms wrapped tightly around herself, drawn to him by a force she can't resist.

But she does, barely.

"Milady..." His fathomless eyes are tender as they linger on her own. "It's better for you not to know."

* * *

_A week later_

Mary has been watching her like a hawk since their conversation about Branson's feelings for her. As Sybil walks towards the house, her sister appears round the corner, dressed in her riding clothes.

"Where have you been, Sybil?"

"Nowhere. Just for a walk."

"As long as that's all it is. Remember what you promised me." She walks away, towards the groom who is waiting with her horse.

Sybil watches her go, then approaches the front door of Downton Abbey.

Immediately she is caught up in the arrival of a group of officers from the hospital, and she slips back into the safety of her role as Nurse Crawley. Moving from man to man, a kind word here, a friendly smile there. She knows what to do, what's expected of her, when she is wearing this uniform.

She sees a young man in a wheelchair, clearly suffering from shell shock, and she rests her hand on his.

"Don't worry, you are safe here. Nothing can hurt you. It's all going to be all right."

He looks up at her. "Are you sure?" His voice breaks, and tears start in his eyes.

"Yes." Her voice is steady and sure. Unlike her traitorous heart, which is fluttering from exaltation to fear and back again with every beat.

* * *

"Are you waiting for Papa? Do you want me to go and find him?"

Sybil sees Branson's storm-dark eyes as she walks towards him, and knows immediately that something's wrong.

"It's come. I've to report to Richmond next week."

Her heart leaps up into her throat. "So... so soon?"

"They don't mess around, the British Army. They need cannon fodder for the meat grinder of the Western Front, and they will steal it if they have to, from countries they've no right to command."

"Branson, I... I don't know what to say. Are you..."

"I'll save you the trouble, milady. As I told you – I'm not going to fight." He clenches his fists without realising it, as if preparing for the future he's imagining.

"But, to go to prison?"

"Milady, my principles matter more to me than any punishment these English generals can order. I won't fight for a foreign power in a war with no just cause, and that's it. Come prison and welcome – I won't be the only Irishman in those cells."

Tears cloud her eyes, and she looks down to try to hide them from him.

But he isn't fooled. Instead, he steps towards her, and puts a finger under her chin. It's the first time they've touched since that night in the garage, and even through his glove she can feel his warmth on her skin as he lifts her face to his.

"Sybil... " Her name is a sigh on his lips, and she remembers the feel of those lips on hers as he speaks again.

"You know me, better than you think you do. You know I can't do this thing, that joining the British Army would kill me surer than any bullet Fritz might send over."

Even if she wants to, she cannot look away from the intensity of his gaze.

"Don't you want me to be true to myself? To think for myself? To stand up for what I believe is right, whatever the cost?"

She nods, as his hand slides beneath her chin and strokes her throat. His touch is gentle, soothing, and she can't help leaning into it. Into him.

"Yes, Tom. Yes, I do. And if, _when_, you go through with this..."

"Sorry to keep you waiting, but we're going to have to step on it." Her father's all military bluster as he shouts through the open door of Downton Abbey.

Sybil jumps backwards, smoothing her nurses' veil, as he approaches. Luckily, the Earl of Grantham seems to be oblivious to what's happening between his daughter and the chauffeur. Such a conversation would be unthinkable in the world her father clings to, she realises, and therefore he can't see what's in front of his nose.

But she can.

Branson closes the door behind his passenger, then gets into the driver's seat. The look on his face is grim, determined. His eyes meet Sybil's for an endless moment, and then he is gone.

She feels as if her heart is breaking in her chest as she thinks about what's going to happen next. How can she bear it? How can _he_?

She hugs a thought to herself like a treasure as she goes back into the house.

_Believe it or not, I will stay true to you._


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's note_

Thanks to everyone who has been reading, reviewing, following and favouriting this story since I made it multi-chapter! I always love to hear from you. :)

Most of the people who reviewed picked up on a big non-canon element of this fic - Tom didn't fail his medical, so there's no 'easy' out for him when he's called up, as there was on the show. I really want to explore what happens in an AU where he doesn't have a heart murmur...

Warning - more angst ahead! But hey, it's me - you know I always take care of our babies, eventually.

* * *

The week passes so quickly for Sybil, with no chance to speak with Tom alone. A flood of new patients arriving at Downton Abbey has her working early and late, leaving her pale and with dark smudges under her eyes.

Day after day, she feels his eyes on her as she goes about her duties as a nurse, but it's not enough, not nearly enough. The night before he's due to leave, she can't stand it any more. She has to see him.

She makes her excuses after dinner and sneaks out the back of the house, heading for the garage.

But he's not there. _Where is he?_

There's only one other place Sybil can think of to try. His cottage.

She's never been there before, although she knows where it is, of course. Walking quickly to his front door, she knocks on it.

The first things she notices when Tom appears before her is that he's out of uniform. The second thing she notices is that his hair is falling in his face.

Seeing him like this, so clearly off duty, feels far more private, more _intimate_ than any other time she's been with him, including that night in the garage. Her cheeks feel hot at the thought.

"Milady? Is something wrong? Do you need anything?" His surprise at seeing her is evident.

"Yes. I need to talk to you."

He jerks his head over his shoulder. "All right. Come in, but quickly. If anyone saw you here..."

No need to finish that sentence. They're awkward standing together in his little sitting room.

"You look very fine," he smiles, an attempt to break the ice.

"Everything I own is from my season before the war. I'm trying to wear them out."

She can see his possessions piled together on the table, next to an open suitcase which is already partly full. The sight of that suitcase brings home to her what will happen the next day.

"Branson, I... "

"What is it?" he encourages her.

"Tomorrow. What will happen? Please, can't you tell me? I'm going mad, wondering."

He takes a step towards her. "Milady... as I said before, it's better for you not to know. But be assured – I know what I am going to do, and I am going to go through with it."

A shiver crosses her skin, and she rubs her gloved hands up and down her bare arms. In her rush to see him, she's forgotten to bring a wrap.

"Are you cold? Here, take this."

Tom pulls off his jacket and offers it to her. Their eyes meet as she reaches out to take it from him. The look he gives her is one she's seen before.

Love for her.

That look sends a glittering thrill down Sybil's spine. She smiles a little. "Thank you, Branson. Could you..."

She shrugs her shoulders, to indicate what she means. He moves behind her, draping the jacket around his shoulders.

It's still warm inside the lining, from him. It reminds her of that night, the feel of his arms around her.

She claps her hands together as he comes to stand before her again, seeking the courage to do what she came here for.

"I just had to tell you... well, once it happens I'm not sure where you will be, or what will happen next. But please, let me know how you are. I'd like to help you if I can." Her eyes are now locked with his in the dim light of the room. "I care about what happens to you. You know that, don't you?"

"Do I, Sybil?" His voice is warm, his use of her name switching the gears of the conversation.

She stares into his eyes for another long moment, then drops her gaze. "Of course you do."

"Then why did you run away that night?"

"Because I was afraid. Afraid of what it all might lead to."

"You don't need to be afraid of me. You know I would never... I'd wait forever for you."

Another thrill runs through her. "And I for you."

She surprises herself by letting those words pass her lips, letting those feelings that have overwhelmed her lately come out into the open.

Tom takes her hands, pulls her gently towards him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I... you... " Sybil's blushing, stammering. Her emotions are so intense, she can't get them out. "You were right, Tom, although it's taken me this long to admit the truth."

"The truth?" His hands run down her arms, along the silky fabric of her gloves, and come to rest on her waist.

She looks up at him, her heart in her eyes. _No more hiding, not any more._ "That I love you. I love you, I..."

He leans down to stop her mouth with his, pulling her close to him, wrapping his arms around her beneath the jacket.

It feels different this time. An eager response to his touch is rising within her and she doesn't even try to stop it. Instead, she's parting her lips, closing her eyes, lifting her hands to weave them around his neck.

His jacket falls unheeded to the floor. She can't get close enough, pressing herself against his body as his tongue pushes into her mouth. Then, his hand slides into her hair, cupping the back of her head, and she feels him groan deep inside his chest as his arm moves further around her waist.

The world spins away, leaving them behind. No lady, no chauffeur, nothing keeping them apart. Just Tom and Sybil, alone together for an endless moment with their love.

"Sybil, oh God, Sybil, I love you so much," he says when he breaks their kiss at last. He's still holding her tightly, as if he's afraid to let go of her, to break the spell that's been cast between them.

She doesn't want him to, burrowing her head into his shoulder, her next words barely a murmur. "Then, why do it? If you go to prison..."

"Don't you remember what I said to you the other day?" He tips her face up to his, gently wiping a tear from her cheek with his thumb.

"I know, that going to the war would be against your principles. I understand all that, I do, but still... the thought of you in that cell..."

She can see tears gleaming behind his eyes too. When he speaks again, his voice is hoarse.

"Oh my darling..." Her heart turns over inside her chest at the sound of that word, that wonderful word.

He breaks her gaze, bringing her head down to his chest, stroking her hair, resting his other hand on her hip. She can feel that he's miles away now, back in Ireland, dreaming of losses suffered, injustices endured for a thousand years at the hands of people like her family.

"You know that my true self, the man who believes with all my heart in freedom for my homeland, would be lost if I give in and fight for the unjust Empire that continues to deny that freedom. Whatever the consequences, I have to be true to those principles, because they make me who I am. The man you love..."

She hears the uncertainty, the hope in his voice and hastens to reassure him. Moving to face him again, she rests her hand on his cheek, moving it up to smooth back his fringe as she stares into his eyes.

"I do love you, Tom, the real you. As I said – whatever happens tomorrow, I will be with you in my heart, I promise you that. You won't have to go through it alone."

The world disappears around her once more as he bends his head to kiss her. It's a world she's quite happy to leave behind, as long as she can be with him.

* * *

In the end, it's Sybil's father who tells her Tom's plan.

She's been as skittish as a kitten, unable to settle to anything after Tom leaves Downton Abbey. He's gone without seeing her again, as they'd agreed, unable to bear for their final goodbyes to be public, before the eyes of the entire household.

By the end of the day, she's drained, thankful for her work which helps the hours pass. Despite her exhaustion, she's unable to sleep at all, spending the night tossing and turning, thinking about him and wondering what has happened.

At breakfast the next morning, she sips a cup of tea, unable to stomach the smell of the hot food the others are eating. Then, the Earl of Grantham does something he very rarely does.

He lets out an oath.

"Well I'll be damned! I always knew that fellow was... "

He's shaking out the paper that Carson has brought to him.

"What is it, Papa?" Mary puts down a piece of toast and turns to her father.

"It's that blasted Fenian, Branson, our chauffeur. Ex-chauffeur, as of now."

"Papa, please... "

Robert turns to his eldest daughter. "The shirker's only gone and refused to serve, in front of the entire company! He should be ashamed of himself." He turns back to the paper and starts to read.

"There was a surprising turn of events at yesterday's muster of new recruits in Richmond when one young man of Irish descent, Private Thomas Branson, stepped out from the ranks. In front of the inspecting officers, he shouted that he refused to serve an unjust master in an imperialist war. After a brief scuffle, the NCOs restrained him and took him away to the punishment cell in the barracks." He snorted. "Best place for him."

"What will happen to him, Papa?" Edith unknowingly takes the words beating through Sybil's heart like a drum and speaks them for her.

"The usual, I suppose. He'll come before the Tribunal. I hope they throw the book at him! Prison's too good for a cad like that."

Sybil's been expecting it, or something like it, but somehow now that it's here she can't bear it. A tear slips down her cheek and falls into her lap. Everyone is still looking at her father after his outburst, so no-one else sees it fall.

Or so she thinks.

She quickly realises she's wrong. Mary has seen it. However, the look her sister sends her across the table tells Sybil that her secret is still safe, for now at least.

_Thank goodness Mary doesn't know the whole story... _


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's note_

Thanks to everyone who has been reading, reviewing, following and favouriting this story! I always love to hear from you. :)

In this chapter, Sybil finds someone she can trust, and learns more about what has happened to Tom...

* * *

Sybil's eyes are blurred with tears as she walks into the library after breakfast, seeking peace and solitude to process what she has just learned.

_Tom is in prison, hurt, alone._

She almost runs into Isobel, who is waiting there for what Sybil imagines will be yet another tense meeting with her mother.

Her cousin looks at her, concern on her face. "Sybil, my dear, what's the matter? Bad news?"

Sybil decides to trust Isobel, at least a little. "We've just heard that To-_Branson_ has been imprisoned for refusing to fight. I think he's claiming to be a conscientious objector. I'm worried about him, poor man."

The look on Isobel's face makes Sybil think that her cousin has noticed her slip of the tongue. But her next words make it clear she's decided to say nothing about it.

"Goodness! Mind you, I'm not really surprised – he's always been a political fellow, hasn't he? Where is he now?"

"The paper said he was in the punishment cell at Richmond Barracks. Papa mentioned something about a tribunal?"

"Yes, the Military Service Tribunal. It's part of the machinery of conscription – those who are called up and unable or unwilling to fight can plead a case for exemption there. That's what Branson will do, I expect. Unless he changes his mind."

Sybil shakes her head without hesitation. "I don't believe he will… Not from what I know of him, at least."

Isobel steps forward, lifting her hand to wipe away a fresh tear that's fallen down her cousin's cheek.

"My dear girl, your compassion does you credit." She thinks for a minute. "Why don't I tell your mother that I need your help in Richmond to pick up some supplies for the hospital? We can drive up there today to see what we can find out."

Sybil's smile breaks through. "Could we really do that? Oh, Isobel, thank you! Only ... please don't tell Papa about any of this. He'd hit the roof!"

Isobel nods. "I can only imagine Robert's reaction when he heard the news!" She returns the younger woman's smile. "Come on. Let's go to Crawley House and pick up some things before we go. I'm sure Branson would welcome a warm blanket."

* * *

Sybil looks around as they walk through the crowded streets of Richmond. "It's been so long since I came here. I hadn't remembered it as so busy!"

"Yes, the war has really changed things." Isobel taps a passing soldier on the arm. "Excuse me, Private – can you direct us to the barracks?"

The young man dips his head. "Certainly, madam. It's part of the old Castle complex." He points the way. "You keep on down there until you get to Market St, then turn left, and then second right into Hollister Square. You can't miss it." He salutes them smartly and jogs away to catch up with his comrades.

A few minutes later, Isobel and Sybil arrive at the square. The soldier is right. There's no mistaking the dour, grey stone building that dominates one side of it. Sybil looks up at its imposing façade, and a feeling of dread passed through her at what might happen inside a building like this one to anyone who broke the rules.

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Sybil. Come on!" Isobel bustles forward and walks into under the archway, where she's stopped by a rat-faced soldier who's guarding the main door.

"No admittance to civilians here, madam." He's brusque and uncaring in his manner. Sybil decides to do something she rarely does – make use of her status in society to get what she wants.

An imperious look comes over her face. "Now look here, my good man. Surely you aren't going to stop the daughter of the Earl of Grantham from coming inside? I have good works to do here."

She meets his gaze and holds it. A beat of silence, and then he breaks it.

"Let me speak with my commanding officer, milady." He turns and walks away, re-emerging shortly afterwards in the company of a tall, fair main with a large moustache.

Isobel smiles and steps forward. "Major Hathaway! How good to see you again. How are you?"

"Mrs Crawley. You're the last person I expected to see here today! I trust all is well?"

Isobel turns to bring Sybil forward to join them. "Very well, thank you. Major, may I introduce my cousin – Lady Sybil Crawley, youngest daughter of the Earl of Grantham."

"Delighted to meet you, milady." Sybil nods in greeting, a small smile curving her lips.

"Major, I'm hoping you can help my young charge. She's heard some distressing news this morning about the family chauffeur – apparently you are holding him here? Naturally, she's concerned for his welfare."

"Chauffeur? What's all this ab… oh, I suppose you mean Branson. I heard he was in service before he was called up."

Isobel is all business, fortunately, since Sybil's throat is choked with tears at the mention of Tom's name.

"Yes, that's the one. Young Irishman – a little hotheaded perhaps, but good at heart. Lady Sybil, kind girl that she is, has packed a few comforts for him. May she bring them to his cell?"

The Major taps his nose, then nods quickly. "I suppose it can't do any harm to indulge the young lady's fancy. You may bring her through – Cartwright will show you the way. Just a few minutes, mind."

"Major, that is good of you," Isobel effuses, taking Sybil's arm and leading her off behind the clearly reluctant Cartwright.

* * *

Once they are inside the barracks, it's another world. Sybil's tears are still too close to the surface for her to speak, but fortunately Isobel isn't in a chatty mood either as they walk more deeply into the building.

They descend a staircase into the old castle keep, and Cartwright knocks on a heavy door at the bottom. The sound of keys turning in the lock, and it swings open.

"Morning, Sergeant. What are you doing here?" A burly guard greets them.

"A young ladyship to visit one of the prisoners, the Paddy. Apparently he was in service for her father and she wants to bring him a few _comforts_."

The sneering tone makes it very clear how Cartwright feels about all of this. Fortunately he goes on to say – "Major Hathaway has allowed it. Let us through, Corporal."

Sybil walks through the door with Isobel, holding her breath while the guard looks down at his desk to look up something in his ledger. Then, he walks towards her, stretching out his hand.

"Let me see what's in there. Can't be too careful, can we?"

Lifting the checked cloth covering the contents of Sybil's basket, he finds a loaf of bread, a wedge of hard cheese, a pot of jam, a cake of soap and a heavy blanket. He lets the cloth drop back into place, and looks at Cartwright.

"Cell 14. Right down there, on the left." He jerks his head. "Five minutes."

Isobel and Sybil look at each other, then turn to follow Cartwright. Sybil's heart is beating so loudly, she's surprised that it doesn't echo throughout the damp stone corridor that will lead her to Tom.

When they reach the cell, she can't see him at first. Then, as her eyes adjust to the darkness, she sees he is over by the wall, standing up, looking towards the small high window. He's wearing what looks like his own clothes, which are crumpled and smudged with dirt.

Isobel is the first to speak. "Is that you, Branson?"

Tom turns around. Sybil can see him working quickly to hide his surprise and delight at seeing her as Isobel keeps talking.

"Branson, I'm sorry to see you in this place. Lady Sybil was concerned for your welfare – she's brought you a few things to make you more comfortable."

Sybil hands her basket to Cartwright, who opens the cell door briefly to put it inside.

As Tom walks towards them, Sybil can see he's holding his side, closing his eyes briefly as he approaches to smother the pain of what might be a broken rib.

When he reaches the bars near them, he stops. He has a black eye, swollen half shut, and there's a bloody split in his bottom lip.

"I thank you, milady. It's good of you to think of me. But there's not much you can do to make my stay here more pleasant."

Tom's careful with his voice, but his eyes, locked onto Sybil's, speak volumes.

She grabs hold of the sides of her skirt, trying to be strong for him. "What did they do to you, Branson?" She manages to stop her voice from trembling, which means it comes out sounding rather strained.

"It's kind of you to worry, milady. It was no worse than what my father and brothers used to dish out to me!"

"What will happen next?" Isobel asks.

"I'll be up before the Tribunal in a few days, I expect. Apparently, there's quite a backlog of us conchies to get through, so it may take a while!" He uses the derogatory term with a kind of pride. That's who he is now, as far as the British Army is concerned. The lowest of the low.

"Do you need a solicitor? Would you like me to ask Matthew…"

Tom interrupts. "It's good of you, Mrs Crawley, but Mr Crawley shouldn't be troubled with this. He has enough to worry about, recovering from his injuries. Anyway, I've no need of a solicitor. I'll say what I've come here to say, the same thing as I said on the parade ground."

"Are you sure that's the right thing? Perhaps Matthew can ask for mercy or whatever it is they call it." Sybil can't help herself.

Tom shakes his head. "No, thank you, milady. Truly. I don't want mercy from the likes of these people, nor do I expect it. I'll be treated the same as everyone else."

A shiver travels down Sybil's spine as she contemplates what that 'treatment' might be like. As she looks at Tom, she longs to kiss him, to hold him in her arms, to protect him from the uncaring world that's trying to take him away from her.

But she can't.

Fortunately, Isobel decides to engage Cartwright in conversation about something or other, which gives Sybil a moment to step closer to the bar and speak a few words that only Tom can hear.

"Please, Tom, there must be something I can do. Seeing you in this cell..."

"If I have your love, Sybil, I can bear anything." The look in his eyes – _such longing!_ – warms her, even in this gloomy place.

She darts a look at the soldier. Seeing he's still distracted by Isobel's chatter, she dares to press two fingers to her lips, then puts her hand through the bars to touch Tom's lips. The same lips that make her knees buckle each time he kisses her.

Cartwright appears at her shoulder, and she quickly pulls her hand back. Just in time.

"Time to go, milady. Let's leave him to his own devices." The soldier spits on the ground then looks at Tom contemptuously. "Traitor to King and country that he is."

Tom murmurs something under his breath.

Cartwright frowns. "Speak up, Paddy!"

The two men's eyes meet. "I said – not my King, not my country." Tom's gaze is level, his voice calm and resolute.

Cartwright's face pales and he clenches his fist before him. "Why, I ought to... prison's the least of what the likes of him deserve!"

He looks at Sybil and Isobel. "Come on, we have to go." He walks down the corridor for a few paces, then stops. "Hurry up, I haven't got all day!"

"Goodbye, Branson. We'll try to visit again if you are here for longer than a few days." Sybil glances back over her shoulder, desperate for one last sight of Tom as Isobel leads her away.

"Thank you, Lady Sybil, Mrs Crawley." Tom turns and walks back to the far wall of his cell. He doesn't look at her again.

Cartwright returns them to the barracks entrance. "If I were you, milady, I wouldn't come here again. People might talk." He slams the door in their faces.

A spark of anger appears in Isobel's eyes. "Insolent fellow! How dare he presume to tell us what we can and can't do!" Then she turns to Sybil.

"Come on, my dear. We'd better visit the hospital. We need some supplies to take back with us, so that your father doesn't get suspicious, don't we?"

Sybil nods. "Yes, you're right. Where is it?"

* * *

Once Sybil returns to Downton Abbey, the rest of the day passes in a blur.

She takes an afternoon shift at the hospital, helping Isobel unpack the supplies and then accompanying Dr Clarkson on his rounds. Every face, every man that's lying there makes her think about Tom and the uncertain fate that awaits him.

In a way, it helps her to have something to do, but by the time she's meant to be dressing for dinner she's exhausted, both from her work and from holding her feelings inside, staying strong for Tom's sake.

She tells Anna that she's going to rest after her long day.

"Yes, milady. Would you like me to bring you anything?"

"No, thank you, Anna. I just need to go to bed and sleep, I think. Please let Mama know."

Anna bobs a curtsey and leaves her alone.

Sybil sits on the bed in her nightgown, her hair loose on her shoulders, her arms wrapped around her knees. At last, she can let her mind wander back to the place it's been returning to all day.

Tom's lonely cell.

She remembers what he said to her. _If I have your love, I can bear anything._

She lets her head rest on her knees, tears sliding down her cheeks. Softly, she breathes her reply to him, hoping that, somehow, he can hear her.

"You do, Tom. I love you. I love you with all my..."

Sybil's reverie is ruptured by a knock on the door. A demanding voice speaks.

"Sybil, what on earth is the matter? Where have you been all day? I'm coming in..."

The door opens.

Mary.


End file.
